Complete the short story/flash fiction, that has the following opening:
The kitchen table was perfectly set with one chair pulled out as if someone had been about to sit down. The table itself, a sturdy wooden table that exuded many years of use, had one place setting on top of a hand woven place mat. In the centre a lazy susan covered in a white doily, sat a pot of beef stew, a bowl full of biscuits and a butter plate. The glass filled with milk which would normally have been decorating the table, lay shattered on the floor by the fridge.
“Jen, damn it, let me in.”
Jennifer Kern sat on the floor next to the broken glass, her knees drawn up to her chin, her body shaking with the adrenaline coursing through her veins. When she had filed the restraining order against her abusive boyfriend Denny they had assured her that it would keep him away, that she would be safe. But the truth was in front of her. It had not kept him away, it had only made him angrier. It was not going to keep her safe.
The door creaked as Denny leaned into it. He spoke in a loud whisper, just loud enough for Jennifer to hear, loud enough for her to feel the menace in every word. “Open up Jen, or I’m going to get mad.”
“You’re not supposed to be here,” she whispered. Then again, louder, so that he could hear. “You’re not supposed to be here, Denny. The court said …”
“I don’t give a good god damn what the course said. You’re mine, you’ll always be mine and nothing is going to stop me from having what is mine.” The sound of the door cracking as Denny rammed it with his shoulder caused Jennifer to jump. Her hands went to the floor to help her stand but she stopped as pain lanced through her right hand. She looked at her bleeding palm and then the floor where the shards of the glass lay in a pool of milk.
The door jamb broke under the stress of Denny’s attack and the door was flung open and Jennifer instinctively reached down and grabbed the base of the glass in her hand. She waited while the sounds of his footsteps echoed in the quiet of the house. She hoped that her neighbours had seen what he was doing and had called the police. She hoped that they had been brave enough to do what she couldn’t. Fear paralyzed her as she sat there, quaking, wishing that the footsteps would stop.
“Ah, you made me dinner,” said the voice of the nightmares. “Now, where are you mouse? I need to punish you for locking me out. Where are … ah, there you are.”
The voice turned deeper and her blood froze. “You’ve been a bad girl and you need to be punished.” She closed her eyes, waiting for the blow, waiting for the pain that she knew would come. Even through closed eyes she could see him kneel down and put his face inches from hers, his fetid breath washing over her like a blanket of despair.
“Yes,” he spat, “you’re going to be punished.”
With a determination that she didn’t know she had, she swung her hand with the broken glass at what she hoped was his face and felt it connect. With something soft.
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